My Winona
by JustTheDreamer
Summary: Because Lorcan loved Lucy, and maybe, she loved him too. Based on, but not entered in the OTP Boot Camp Challenge by Gamma Orionis
1. Acrid

I. Acrid

_acrid_: 1: sharp or biting to the taste or smell; bitterly pungent; irritating to the eyes, nose, etc.

2: extremely or sharply stinging or bitter; exceedingly caustic

Lorcan Xenophilus Scamander took his coffee black, a single spoon of sugar. He smoked once in the morning, and twice in the evening. He avoided tea at all costs, he was allergic to strawberries, and he loved to write.

It was the cigarettes that Lucy couldn't stand.

After her final year at school, she'd bought a flat in Landon Alley; close enough to Barwin Inn and Pub, where she tended the bar on weeknights, where she spent her weekends. Occasionally, he'd drop in just before she'd leave for work, a cig dangling between two pale fingers.

"You live a dull life, Lucy Weasley." He'd say with a demeaning smirk, breathing a thick cloud of smoke in her face.

She'd pull a face, reacting to the bitter smelling drug. "I have work, Lorcan."

He'd lean in close, breath still reaking of the cigarette he'd let fall to the ground just outside of the flat. "I'm going to kiss you, Lucy."

It usually left her hair a right mess, her breath smelling a cigarette she'd never smoked.


	2. Agitated

II. Agitated

She had a habit of getting under his skin. Whether it was tapping her fingernails on her desk, cracking her knuckles, picking at the tip of her quill, sighing too loudly, much too often. But, the _absolute worst _had to be when she would drag the prongs of her fork across the empty space of her plate at breakfast time, at dinner time.

She'd hold a conversation, smiling, laughing, all whilst while dragging that bloody fork across that bloody plate and they'd all pretend like it didn't bother them, like they didn't hear the _God awful _sound. Sometimes, Frankie would punch him in the shoulder or cuff him in the head and, all of sudden, he'd be pulled into a talk concerning whether or not Ravenclaw could beat Slytherin in next week's Quidditch match.

But, still, the sound rang in his ears, eating away at his sanity.

"For the love of Merlin, Lucy!" September 17, 2022, their final year. It was the day that he finally snapped.

The fork hit the plate with a surprised _clank._ "What?"

"How do you sleep at night?"

She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, that bloody noise keeps _me _awake at night."

"What are you talking about?"

He pushed a white blonde curl away from his face in an exhausted fashion. "With the fork and the plate and the scratching and—"

"You mean, like this?"

He hated Lucy Weasley sometimes.


	3. Breathless

III. Breathless

The first time they kiss, it's really nothing special because he is drunk and so is she. They're standing outside of the Crooked Billet, he was leaning against the slick bricks of the building as she swayed back and forth, rocking on the balls of her feet, never sitting still.

She's cold, and he knows that. She wants to go home, but, she's waiting for him to finish the cigarette, even though she hates the things. (He knows that too)

She's just standing there, dark curls whipping about in the wind when it strikes him. _He wants to kiss Lucy. _They'd been sort of friends for almost a year now, and kissing her probably isn't the best thing to do.

He takes his time, finishing the cigarette, and as they start to walk away, "Luce,"

"Yeah?" Her hands are dug deep in the pockets of her favorite red coat, and she turns to look at him.

He does it anyways, pulling her close to him, pressing their lips together before she can protest. He keeps his hands on her waist, while hers rest on his shoulders.

The way Lucy Weasley kisses should be _illegal. _


	4. Battered

IV. Battered

She was biting back laughter.

He'd just been in a fight. _A real fight._

And she was laughing at him.

"You are completely daft, aren't you?" She kneeled down beside where he lay, just mere feet from the shore of the Black Lake.

"You're an ungrateful little thing, aren't you?" He scowled, as she poked the blossoming bruise on his cheek.

"I've nothing to be grateful for," She smirked. He hated her smirk. "I didn't ask you to punch the poor bloke, now did I?"

He glared. Scoffed. But, said nothing.

"That's what I thought." She let her head fall to one side. "He did quite the number on you, Lorcan Scamander."

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Now, that's a shame." He'd broken his nose for this girl. He'd gotten seventeen bruises for Lucy Weasley. The girl wasn't worth it. Not yet, anyways.


End file.
